


Seashells in the drift

by Out_Of_Custody



Category: Naruto
Genre: 500 words, Drabble, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_Of_Custody/pseuds/Out_Of_Custody
Summary: Right now, however, she is there. And her warmth washes over him from their points of contact, like waves – until he falls still and finds himself wondering if this is how seashells feel under the sway of turquoise instead.





	Seashells in the drift

He sits next to her on the metro. As unusual as it is to actually have a seat when riding, it is admittedly even more so to look out of the windows and have darkness stare back at him with only the intermittent blips of street-lamps to let him know that the sensation of _forward-motion_ is not merely an imaginary construct of his mind.

Some days are worse than others in that regard.  
But she knows.

As Izuna would say _He’s got that going for him – which is nice_. And it is; nice that is. Knowing that at his side there is a person who is not bound by familial obligation to love him – in any variation of the word – but does so in spite of his sometimes erratic brain. Or because of it; he hasn’t found the courage to ask for clarification on that point yet. It is nice to know that she is there on the days when he can be sturdy and focussed and present and _there_ and it is nice to know – albeit some times downright frightening – that she is there even on the days when he melts down in questions and doubts about even his own existence.

Yesterday has been a good day.  
He thinks.

...Maybe he shouldn’t have said what he did when he stood to make a toast for the wedding couple, because he thinks that maybe it made him look as inexperienced with large crowds as he is, and maybe it was too callous to say even though it sounded _fine_ in his brain (meaning: before it passed his lips and the words became free for the inspection of all the guests), and maybe he should have chosen something more mellow (suited for the occasion), and maybe he should have elected to stay seated while speaking, and maybe--

Her head falls against his shoulder and he bites back the violent squeeze in his chest at the gesture, at the instant overload of sensory input, but her weight is gone before he can turn his head into her direction. The back of her hand brushes against his, where his fingers have balled into fists at his thighs and she doesn’t reach to hold it, but she doesn’t move it away either.

He’s stopped thinking about the wedding and when he looks up, she doesn’t smile; but the press of her body is more noticeable against his. Nonintrusive. But _there_. And she knows.

And no, she doesn’t always make it better. Because some times he wonders – like he is precariously close to do now – how it comes that she is; how it comes that something as erratic and fractioned and unsuccessful and despairing as him has something like her to wake up to most mornings.

Right now, however, she is there. And her warmth washes over him from their points of contact, like waves – until he falls still and finds himself wondering if this is how seashells feel under the sway of turquoise instead.


End file.
